Divine Intervention of the Diabolic Kind
by Igorina
Summary: Having been emotionally blackmailed into helping Aziraphale fill his saving quota, Crowley discovers that trying to steer Harry Potter from the path of vengeance is rather more difficult than one might imagine. HP crossover containing HarryxDraco and CxA.


Disclaimer: I own none of the characters featured herein.

A/N: This is one of the little crackified one-shot I wrote shortly after HBP came out but didn't bother to post here as I was having trouble uploading to my account at the time. However, I'm still quite fond of this one, so thought I'd put it here now.

Crowley wasn't enjoying Peru very much. This may, in part, have been down to the fact that last time he visited there had been rather more going on(1), it was also however, due to the fact that his mere presence here was a testament to Aziraphale's powers of emotional blackmail.

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate," the angel had said. Crowley knew for a fact that this was a lie. The angel was by no means desperate, well, unless desperate now included 'strong desire not to miss next book club meeting'; but he had found himself grudgingly agreeing to it anyway(2).

"It's nothing really," Aziraphale assured him. "One man planning to send another to the Dementors as revenge for something that wasn't entirely the other man's fault. I daresay that quick burst of forgive and forget will be all it takes."

He should have known when he heard the names of the people involved that a 'quick burst of forgive and forget' just wasn't going to cut it.

"Surely, it's sometimes better to just move on," he said, to the young auror sitting next to him at the bar. It was, Crowley thought, a rather futile conversation. Harry Potter had not responded at all to the reflection promptings and subtle guilt vibes that the demon had been projecting in his direction for the past week. So intent was the Boy Who Lived on his quest to haul Draco Malfoy out of hiding and into the darkest depths of Azkaban, that Crowley even had doubts as to whether a full angelic visitation with all of the bells, whistles, hallelujahs and other trimmings would be effective at this stage of the young man's obsession.

"Some people deserve to be hunted down like animals," said Harry, in tones that implied a very real sense of moral absoluteness.

"But what about…. what about a situation where the person that you are…. I mean, this bloke in the hypothetical situation is looking for, hasn't actually killed anyone, and probably isn't even a threat to public safety?"

"Yes, but Drac…. the man was still involved with the criminal organisation. Even if, like you said, 'he ran away at the first opportunity and didn't actually manage to hurt anybody' he was still supporting it."

"Yeah, but does this bloke really deserve to get sent to Azkaban for twenty-five years for something that he was involved in, in very peripheral sort of way, when he was seventeen?"

Harry seemed to think about this for a moment. "Yes."

"Fair enough."

Crowley stared gloomily into his inexpertly mixed cocktail. He could always go back and tell Aziraphale that despite his best efforts Harry had remained wrathful and steadfast; after all, the whole free will thing meant that temptation and visitation were never guaranteed to work. But even though the angel would undoubtedly just shrug sadly, shake his head and murmur something about being sure that Crowley had done his best, Crowley would still be aware that Aziraphale had been responsible for two more successful temptations this year than Crowley had exultations. Not that he felt as though it was in any way a competition. Perish the very thought.

No, the former Serpent of Eden wasn't going to give up just yet. Though he was damn….save….. banished to Milton Keynes if he knew what to do.

Over the next few days the demon followed the wizard from small out of the way Peruvian magical village to small out of the way Peruvian magical village. Appearing to him in a variety of guises. But neither the emotional and impassioned monologue of the old washer woman nor the impeccable logic of the travelling philosopher was enough to sway Harry Potter from his path of vengeance and soul tarnishment.

When Harry finally obtained accurate information with regards to the fugitive whereabouts Crowley steeled himself for defeat. It was in his power, of course, to inform The Boy Who Ran Away that The Boy Who Lived was a hairsbreadth away from finding him, and that he should really think about buggering off to, say, Scandinavia in short order. But given Harry's all-consuming fixation this would probably only prolong the whole blessed chase.

And thus it was that during the early hours of a grey Tuesday morning Harry Potter struck out for a cave high in The Andes followed by a rather large black snake, who was making a last ditch attempt with the 'Feeling Generally at Peace with God and the World Field'. It didn't seem to be working. It rarely did these days, especially given that you could now get roughly the same effect by taking half a valium tablet.

Crowley wasn't exactly sure at which point the idea actually started to formulate in his brain, but formulate it did. And by the time Harry had reached the aperture in the remote cliff face there was definite glint of what could only be described as mischief in the serpent's amber eyes. The instructions had been to encourage Harry Potter to rethink his obsessive preoccupation with having Draco Malfoy sent to Azkaban with the newly reinstated Dementors. Aziraphale had not however specified what would and would not be an appropriate way to accomplish this. The answer was, of course, already there, lurking in the young man sub-conscious; coming to the fore only in the most strange and exciting of his dreams. Hate, desire and obsession were always so very prone to becoming entwined in the messiest of ways, and all Crowley really needed to do was help it all bubble to the surface.

Harry, wand at the ready, walked inside. He didn't notice the snake in the grass transform into the stylishly dressed man he'd met at Lima Airport three weeks ago.

Crowley, glad to be back in his favourite shape, listened as a volley of curses and counter curses were fired. Potter, of course, had the advantage, what with all of his auror training and the fact that Draco Malfoy possessed a malfunctioning wand owing to damage caused by a llama stampede two years ago.

There was a shout of something that sounded like rage, as Harry decided to forego wands and attack with his bare hands, and a yelp as Draco tried to fend him off.

The demon blinked, and then smirked. His old friend Sigmund had always had an awful lot to say about the ego, the unconscious and the way that the desires of latter could, if unchecked by the part of the mind responsible for determining which thoughts were acceptable for conscious consumption(3), seep into the former. All one really had to do was lower the defences a little.

There was a pause in the altercation going on inside the cave. Harry suddenly felt very odd indeed, almost as if he was asleep. He was also feeling rather unsure as to whether grievous bodily harm was what he wanted to do to the blonde haired man he was currently in the act of trying to throttle.

"You've got lovely eyes," said Harry in a dream-like fashion, as he loosened his grip on Draco's throat.

"What?" said Draco, who was rather confused by this turn of events, yet clearly very relieved that Harry seemed to have - for now at least - stopped attempting to strangle him.

"You're eyes, they're really lovely," Harry repeated, not quite believing that he was saying it. It was as if all of the odd dreams and peculiar desires that he'd been trying to repress for the last five years were suddenly assailing him.

"Er… right thanks." Draco was suddenly aware that one of the hands that had been at his throat was now caressing his face. As the other hand began to stroke his hair, the failed Death Eater reaction to the situation went from a terrified _OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT_ to a startled _BLOODY HELL_.

The sensible thing to do, he knew, would be to use this utterly surreal moment to knee Potter in the groin, retrieve his wand from the floor and hex him into oblivion. Sensible however was not something he was prepared to do when faced with the scenario that pretty much constituted his all time third favourite wank fantasy(4) . "Erm…carry on Potter."

Crowley, sitting on a rock near the mouth of the cavern, listened with a great deal of profession pride as the noises emanating from within went from loud and violent, to merely loud; until, following several minutes of rapidly increasing volume, suddenly ceasing altogether.

No stamina, either of them, the demon thought, with great amusement, as a disgruntled and temporarily homeless Crumple Horned Snorkack shuffled by.

-------------------

"You're a complete shit Malfoy," said a panting Harry, as an equally breathless Draco lay beside him. Despite having travelled here with the intention of righteously giving the heir to the Malfoy estate what was coming to him, he didn't feel the least bit inclined to do anything but run his hands through the man's light blonde hair.

"I loath you too Potter," murmured Draco, drawing closer. "Can we do that again?"

"Yeah, alright."

Outside Crowley finally began to wonder how he was going to explain all of this to Aziraphale. 

(1)Though the frequent ritual sacrifices had caused him to publicly loose his lunch on several occasions.

(2)This may or may not have had something to do with the fact that Aziraphale's hands had, at the time, been inadvertently on purpose touching him in a very distracting manner in a rather intimate place.

(3)Freud called this function the 'super ego' Crowley referred to it as 'the spoilsport Michael inside everyone's head'.

(4)Although said fantasy usually involved rather more luxurious surroundings than a damp Peruvian cave.


End file.
